


Hold My Hand (This is My Unbreakable Vow)

by RemixtheBox



Series: The Five Fingers AU [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: And all the perks of growing up, Angst, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Betrayal, Don't harm my face, Drug Use, Fluff, Forgivness, I'm Sorry, Kidnapping, M/M, Marriage, Marriage Proposal, Parentlock, Podfic Welcome, Post-Hogwarts, Potterlock, Remix What is this?, Soldier!John, What is that rape tag doing there?, You are a fluff writer.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6540295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RemixtheBox/pseuds/RemixtheBox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock have decided to leave the wizarding world behind and build their own life. With their conflicting aspirations and reckless antics, will they be able to finally make the home they've both only dreamed of?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ring Finger

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the anticipated sequel to Five Fingers! Okay, so I should probs explain the tags... or not. I'm sorry, I don't usually take an angsty route with my work but the pits of hell beckoned my soul. I'll try to update frequently as usual and I pray that those of you who enjoyed the prequel will fall in love with the sequel as well! Not beta'd or brit-picked, so all the mistakes are mine.
> 
> ~Remix

I was going to kill Sherlock Holmes. I wouldn’t even be sorry, for the record, because the fucking git deserved it. He could get away with a lot of things, but nobody, not even the love of my life, messed with my tea.

The day began on a positive note. I was woken up by sleepy nudges from my beautiful boyfriend’s nose and sweet kisses on my eyelids. It was honestly the best way to wake up in the morning, especially given that affection was not his strong suit. There were the usual complaints of morning breath and a few slow kisses before I got up to face the day. I took a shower and made us tea like usual, then headed off to class. Sherlock decided that the education he received from Hogwarts was enough for him and worked with Lestrade on cases. I was still determined to get my training as a healer so I could help people in muggle society.

Our flat was set in muggle London as Lestrade transferred to the police force here instead of remaining an auror. It was in a convenient location so Sherlock could follow him to wherever for a crime scene. The landlady was a sweetheart and gave us a discounted price because I was a student. She even seemed to be fond of Sherlock and his shenanigans, never questioning just how he did some of the “less then normal” things he got up to like burning a hole in the floor into the apartment below. 

It was a stress free day at training, only running over some basic cold curing techniques. I even stopped at the bakery to pick up some of the cakes Sherlock was so fond of. He insisted that they were for Mycroft in hopes he would eat too many and die of a heart attack, but everyone who was close enough knew the truth. 

So, to say that alI wanted was to come home, drink some tea, snog my boyfriend silly, and cuddle-up to watch Doctor Who reruns was an accurate assessment. However, one must learn that when you live with Sherlock Holmes no plan is concrete. 

Which brought us here.

“Sherlock… why on Earth did you cut every single tea bag open and then pour the contents into Grandma Lisa’s ashes?” 

The proclaimed scientist was looking much too pleased with himself, “Because John, I had to make sure you didn’t drink the wrong one.”

I took a deep breathe, slowly naming the the different bones in the hand. When I still wasn’t calm, I turned around, “I’m going to go buy more tea before I do something I regret, like murdering you with your own scarf.”

“There is still one left. You should drink it before you go in an effort to become less angry.”

I looked back at him and I could see an excited gleam in his eye. He did something to it, I was sure. “No. Whatever the last one is, I am not touching it because you’re doing an experiment and it’s probably drugged or charmed or something equally as distasteful. I am going out to buy some more tea and if you try to stop me so help me Merlin I will throw the skull out.”

The door slammed behind me when I left, making the windows rattle. I loved him, I really did, but what on Earth was he thinking? It doesn’t matter how much Grandma loved tea; there is no excuse for pouring a bunch in her bloody ashes! Not to mention the fact that he probably doesn’t realize what he did was wrong given by that excited look on his face from when I came home. He looked like a kicked puppy when I had left… No. You are strong John Watson. You are allowed to be angry at him for a little while. Then you can go home, he can sort of apologize, and then the night can continue as planned. 

I went into the small tea shop on the corner, ready to buy an excessive amount with extra to hide somewhere away from mad purebloods. The man took one look at me and shook his head, “We have no tea for you.”

The shock was sudden and I looked around to ensure that I was, indeed, in a tea shop. “This is a tea shop. All you sell is tea and things to eat with said tea.” 

“Yes, but no tea for you.”

“Why? Did Sherlock do something to you? I am so sorry for whatever he did. Was there any damage because I’ll pay-”

“No John Watson,” The old man chuckled with an amused curve of his lips, “There is simply no tea here that I may sell to you. Go home and drink Mr. Holmes’s tea.”

I rolled my eyes. Oh. So Sherlock had bribed the owner to withhold my tea purchasing privileges. With a long suffering sigh, I left the shop to find a place that would sell me tea.

One by one I was turned away from every store in realistic distance from Baker Street. Even Tesco. The check and pin machine rejected my purchase of tea, but the second I went to buy jam it went through no problem. When I went to a cafe the barista would let me order anything but the fucking tea. By the time I realised that I wasn’t going to get tea anywhere it was late and rainy. I tried to hail a cab, but apparently small college students weren’t forceful enough to get one. 

I even considered calling for the knight bus, but I was irritated enough as is. I didn’t need to run into some pure-blooded conservative woman again who told me all about how my choice of living among muggles was disgusting and I was filthy just like the rest of them.

Cold, angry, and soaked to the bone, I made my way back home. I made sure to stomp really hard up the stairs so Sherlock could deduce exactly how pissed off I was. Once inside I stripped off all my wet layers, shivering. My back was to the room because I really did not want to see Sherlock right now.

“Did you get the tea?”

My shoe was off and thrown at him before he could even take a breath, “No. I wonder why every single damned store I could walk to couldn’t sell me any tea?” I turned to glare at him.

“That is quite strange,” The stupid git was smiling. My desire to murder him increased significantly. 

“Are you really that desperate to get me to drink your experimented on tea?”

He scoffed haughtily, “I don’t get desperate.” I continued to glare at him, giving him the “you know that’s not true” look. He rolled his eyes, shifting on the sofa he lied on, “Mycroft does.”

“You convinced Mycroft to help you?”

He jolted up, walking to the kitchen, “Of course not. He began to meddle. No matter, it all better for me. You know what would warm you up John?”

“Your life’s blood spilling over my hands as I murder you?”

“If you wanted to kill me John and get away with it, all you would have to do is leave and never come back. I would do the rest of the work for you eventually.”

My heart gave a little twinge. How the hell was I supposed to be mad at him when he said something like that? I sighed, not having the energy to fight. “What would keep me warm Sherlock?”

He sat a cup of tea on the table next to my chair, “A cuppa.”

I went into the bedroom to change. I may not want to fight, but I was not going to drink his experiment tea. Perhaps if he just asked in the first place I would have, but no. He had to be difficult. Once in warm pajamas I turned only to run into a firm chest.

“The tea John. You have to drink it.”

I groaned, “Why the hell should I after everything you have done?”

“Because it would make me very happy.”

I rolled my eyes and tried to push past him. He grabbed my arm, balancing the tea in his other hand. “John. I apologize for choosing this course of action in an attempt to get you to drink the tea I made special for you. However, it would make me the happiest wizard alive if you drank this cup of tea.” His face was open as it so rarely was, and his eyes screamed something close to desperation. My resolve crumbled under this look. I suppose I could be mad at him and drink the tea.

“Fine you bloody wanker, but if I turn into a bird or die of poisoning I will end you.”

He cocked his head, “I understand how you would do this as a bird but I am unsure how you would end me if you were dead.”

I took the tea and smiled at him, “Don’t question my methods Holmes.” I took a tentative sip and moaned at the taste. Sherlock always made my tea wrong, yet what I was drinking was the best damn cuppa I’ve ever tried. Noticing the string to the tea bag, I pulled it as to not ruin it with anymore steeping.

...

“Sherlock?”

“Yes John?”

“Where is the teabag?”

He huffed, “This is why I insisted you make it yourself. If you hadn’t stormed off and made it like you were supposed to, you would have noticed that I concocted a magical blend of fiber that dissolves completely in hot water and adds flavors based on the tastes of the person drinking the tea. Inside the bag, I placed a transfigured object that will change back once the cup is finished. I had to be sure that you drank this particular tea today because I had hidden it in your last supply but it was taking you ages to get to it. I am not a patient man, so I had to dispose of all the other tea options.”

I had continued sipping on the tea while he explained, “And you decided my Grandmother’s ashes were a good option because…?”

He shifted uncomfortably, “I… didn’t want you to know what I was doing. I panicked.”

I nodded and took the last sip of tea, “I’m still mad at you. But you could have just asked.”

“It had to be special John,” he pouted, playing with the hem of his dressing gown. Why was he doing that? Sherlock Holmes didn’t get nervous…

I looked down into the cup to see what he had put in there. If it was gift, it was probably a pin or a medal if it was that small. I tipped the cup and out fell… a ring?

Here I was, standing in the middle of my bedroom in my pajamas after having a rough day and a row with my silly, adorable boyfriend only to find out it was because he wanted to give me… a ring.

I walked to the side table and set the cup down gently. Sherlock didn’t move, looking stoic and detached with traitorous eyes that revealed his fear. I examined the ring up close and found an engraving on the inside.

It’s always you. You keep me right. -SH

I took a deep breath, my lungs unable to keep from shuddering pitifully, “Is this… Sherlock, is this?”

He walked towards me, “Yes, John. Please?”

My heart broke as I watched him prepare for rejection. He never quite got over his insecurity, “It’s always you too, remember?”  
That smile, that special smile that was mine and made me fall in love all over again made my chest ache in how much this man meant to me. I pulled him in for a long, slow kiss as I felt him take my hand and slip the ring on my finger. No other words were necessary and I couldn’t even remember why I was mad.


	2. Pointer Finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding has arrived and everyone is ready- except John. He is so guilt ridden by a mistake he made he considered that Sherlock won't want to marry him once he finds out. John is being ridiculous of course, and the precious babies have their fairytale moment at their wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So let me just take this moment to apologize for the time that has passed for this update. I have no excuse other than the fact that I am lazy and unworthy of such wonderful readers. I will try to make the next updates more timely, and yes, the Mystrade in this universe is still a thing.
> 
> Anyway, the babies love each other so much it is gross and this chapter may be a bit out of character.
> 
> Not brit-picked, so those mistakes are all mine, but I have a beta now my precious dears. Her name is LadyoftheValley and she is new to archive, but not my life, given that she is my sister and lives in my house.
> 
> ~Remix

I wasn’t ready. I thought I was ready, and I had been calm up until this point, but it was all a lie. One big, fat, web of a lie.  


The preparation for the wedding was brilliant. Late nights by Sherlock’s side as he went on and on about the meaning of muggle and wizard flowers and what colors statistically helped couples last the longest was honestly one of my favorite Sherlock-related activities to date. Picking out our tuxes was fun, although Sherlock fought to not have to wear a tie at the wedding. I eventually let him forgo the garment, but he had to wear a waistcoat. We decided to have the wedding and reception at one of the Holmes’ manors. Everything was what I dreamed and hoped for.  


Until the actual day came and I was puking out my guts over the loo.  


Harry, the blessing in disguise, was rubbing my back soothingly, making little cooing statements. I was tempted to appoint her maid of honor right there just for that, but the thought of the wedding just made me hurl again. My actual best man, the traitor James Sholto, was laughing his ass off from his perch on the bathtub. Greg was off getting towels and Mike was going to tell Sherlock that the ceremony might start later than we initially anticipated.  


After I had finally expelled all that I could, I sat back against the tub next to Sholto’s legs. I could only imagine how much of a hot mess I was.  


“What’s the damage, Johnny? You haven’t had one doubt or crisis this entire time, and when the day finally comes, you are on the brink of collapse!” Harry was looking down at me, brows furrowed with worry.  


I felt horrible. The truth was, ever since that first day on the train, I took what Sherlock said seriously, about being an army doctor. Behind his back, I had enlisted into a program so I could get medical school completely paid, as long as I served in the military at the same time. I never expected I would get in, but today when I checked the mail, the acceptance letter stared me in the face.  


It felt dirty, making such a large decision without talking to Sherlock. How were we supposed to swear our lives and loyalty to each other when I wanted to be shipped away from him at the beginning of next summer? I felt grimy and horrid and like a terrible boyfriend.  


I had to talk to Sherlock. I had to tell him.  
Harry’s cries and Sholto’s confused statements went ignored because I was a man on a mission to see my fiance, knowing I was still in pajamas and I hadn’t brushed teeth and it was an hour to the wedding, but I didn’t care.  


“What do you mean he’s sick?” The baritone of Sherlock’s voice boomed down the hall once I had made it to his preparation wing of the manor. My heart clenched.  


Mike’s voice followed soon after, “I mean that he is sick!”  


“Well, make him unsick!” Irene snapped, “We have not worked this hard for six months just for Johnny-boy to get a stomach bug.”  


James Moriarty joined in, “Maybe he’s just having second thoughts…”  


“Shut the fuck up, Jim. No one asked you!” Mike defended.  


I opened the door and everyone went silent. Sherlock was holding Mike by his lapels while Irene lain across Jim and Mycroft’s lap.  


Mycroft made a face, “I take it you haven’t even begun to prepare?”  


Sherlock was over to me in a few quick strides, “What’s wrong, John?”  


I opened my mouth to answer, but I couldn’t. He looked so worried about me, yet so scared that maybe Jim was right. Jim wasn’t, but Sherlock had always been insecure. So I just stepped forward and rested my head on his shoulder.  


“I have to tell you something…”  


I could feel him glaring at the others in the room. Mike scurried out, being the only person there actually afraid of Sherlock. Irene pat my head on her way out because she was awful, Jim winked, and Mycroft gave us a sad, disapproving look.  


“What is it, John?” Sherlock insisted at once. He was holding me tightly, rubbing gentle circles between my shoulder blades.  


I took a deep breath. How do you tell the man you are in love with that you betrayed him? That you ignored the plans for the future you made together for your own selfish reasons? “I did something horrible.”  


Sherlock hummed, “You did something that you regret, particularly something that has to do with me. You feel guilty, which has made you sick and have second thoughts on our marriage.”  


“John, that is by far the most ridiculous thing I have ever-”  


“It will pay for medical school completely-”  


“I fail to see your issue with this matter-”  


“-As long a I serve in the military.”  


“Oh.”  


There was silence in the room after that. My heart was moving too fast to be considered healthy. I had never felt so horrible about something in my entire life. Sherlock had told me stories of all the cases we would solve together, and how we were going to adopt as soon as I had a steady job as a doctor. Those plans would be put on hold if I accepted this opportunity. Despite everything, I still really wanted to go for it. Call me selfish, but this was something I had wanted for a majority of my life.  


“Are you going to take it?” He was asking for show. He already knew of my internal struggle, but after being together for so long, he also knew that having me talk it out was the best remedy for my indecision.  


“I really want to.”  


“Okay then.”  


I was shocked and I pulled back just to stare at him. Sherlock was overprotective at times, a trait he inherited from his brother no doubt, and he hated the mere thought of being away from me. I couldn’t fathom as to why he would so easily allow such a monumental act.  


“Really?”  


“Of course John,” He said with an eyeroll, “Your happiness is my top priority. You wanted to be soldier. I expect a full apology for applying without talking with me first, but I am not angry enough to prohibit you from doing what you have always wanted to.”  


A weight was pulled off of my chest. Sherlock was one of the best things that had ever happened to me, and I fell a little bit deeper at his admission. I was already planning how I was going to make it up to him and I would start by becoming his husband.  


“I love you. Really, you are the best fiance I could have ever asked for.”  


“I am aware. Now go get ready, I refuse to kiss you until your mouth has been thoroughly sanitized.”  


I laugh and kiss his cheek anyway. He scrunched up his nose in distaste as I ran away to finally get prepared for my big day.

~I hate page breaks but it’s necessary in this case~

I wasn’t close to my family for obvious reasons, and most of Sherlock’s family were pure-blooded snobs who couldn’t be at a mudblood wedding for image purposes. We didn’t really want them here anyway. All that was left were a few acquaintances from Hogwarts (Sherlock almost cried when he found out Anderson was coming), Sherlock’s parents, and our beloved Mrs. Hudson who I had taken to calling mom. All the other people we were close with were in the wedding.  


Sherlock and I walked down the short aisle together, given the ceremony was held outdoors and it made no sense for us to walk apart when the manor lawn was so large and the ceremony so small. Some trees had been magically manipulated to bend over us, twining themselves together. The colors were in blue for Sherlock, red for me, and silver because Sherlock said he would not be caught dead with any gold. It wasn’t extravagant, and the colors were not the ideal choices for a wedding, but it was ours, and that made it perfect.  


Anthea was kind enough to be our “minister.” Neither Sherlock or I were religious, and Anthea was close to both of us. She didn’t waste any time, still “secretly” typing on her phone behind her back. The vows were upon us after only a few short sentences. Sherlock was set to go first.  


“John,“ He began with a big breath. We didn’t do feelings well, so I didn’t expect much from his vows. I realized he was remaining silent and wouldn’t look up. Raising his chin with the hand he wasn’t holding only revealed his tear stained face.  


“Sherlock?” His name from my lips pulled a quiet sob from his chest.  


“I just- John,” He pulled me into his arms and began to cry and shake. No one, not even Jim, dared to say a word. After a few minutes, Sherlock pulled back and started again.  


“I had a speech prepared. I had practiced it more times than even my mind can remember. I wrote it and binned it only to begin again and throw it out. There is simply no way to describe the way I am feeling right now,” He was still crying, but it was silent. A small, self-depreciating smile found his lips, “To be completely honest, I never anticipated to graduate Hogwarts. I never anticipated to plan a future, because I always assumed I would not have one. You made me want more John, not for myself, but for you.  


“I have never craved the company of another as much as I crave yours. No one has ever treated and cared for me the way you do, with your seemingly infinite patience and your large heart you have unwisely chosen to put in my care. I never expected to be loved by another human being. I am… happy that you love me and are willing to admit it to anyone you see without shame. I am proud to be your partner, and no matter where your dreams take you, even if that place is away from me, I will wait for you to return to me again, because there is nothing I can not accomplish in your name. John Hamish Watson, I am afraid that you will never be rid of me. Because of you, I am good, and it would honor me if you helped me remain that way.”  


Sherlock’s parents were crying, so touched by their son’s words. I saw Mycroft wiping away a stray tear with a rare fond expression on his face. I was choking down quiet sobs, because I am John Watson and John Watson doesn't cry in public, god damn it. Gripping Sherlock’s hands tighter in mine and squeezing was the only thing I could trust myself to do. I was overwhelmed by how much this man loved me and my love for this him.  


“John?” Anthea prompted.  


I cleared my throat, sniffed a few times, then began my vows, “I never know what to say to you when it comes to how I feel. As a deductive genius, I always assume that you know. I realize that it is wrong to do so given all experience you have with such emotions is from me, an emotionally constipated hedgehog.” That earned a few teary chuckles from the crowd. “However, when I say that you are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me, I mean it. All my life, people would look at my financial situation, my family, my blood status, and tell me I was never going to become anything. That I should just accept I would be stuck as a poor alcoholic like my father. You never saw that and never thought I would be anything less than what I dreamed to become. When I was told I wasn’t clever enough or too ordinary, you would sweep in and make me feel like I was more than I thought I was worth. You are my home. You always have been. I believe there is no place I could go and feel safe unless you were by my side. And while I’ll be gone for a little while, I will count the minutes until I can come home to you. I love you so much, it scares me sometimes because nobody should be that important. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, and I want to scream to the entire world that you are mine, and I am yours, and no one is as lucky as we are. You’re it for me, Sherlock.”  


Mrs. Hudson was sobbing loudly, and I was sure others were crying just as hard, but I couldn’t care. Two striking eyes that couldn’t decide on a color were looking at me as if I were everything that was good in the world. No one spoke, not even Anthea to ask for the rings. Sherlock raised his hand and placed his finger on my forehead.  


“It’s you,” The words were broken and so familiar. Emotion swelled in my chest and I was drowning in love that hurt and consumed in fire and ice. I could do nothing but return the action.  


“It’s you too.”  


No one understood. They shouldn’t. Because it was Sherlock and I against the rest of the fucking world. In this moment, we knew Eden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is! After all this time, there is the second chapter. 
> 
> All feedback and constructed criticism is welcome and encouraged. If you have any questions, concerns, or fic requests, pop on tumblr and lay it out for me over there. It's RemixtheBox as always and I have no life so expect a response quickly.
> 
> ~Remix


	3. Middle Finger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has joined the military, leaving Sherlock and everyone behind. Neither can stand being apart like this, but the affect the separation has on Sherlock could be the end of all they built.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter with the drug use! Sorry my babies, it's angsty. 
> 
> Not brit-picked, so those inaccuracies are sure to be hella. The military and leave schedule is based on my cousin's experience but it may be different for Britain.
> 
> ~Remix

Combat training could only be described as brutal. The physical strain was nothing I had ever really experienced, not even in Quidditch. While I knew that I could use my magic to cheat during some of the tasks, like barbed wire crawling and rock climbing, it felt horribly wrong to do when the rest of my team had to actually do the exercises. My muscles constantly ached from the stress I subjected them to. Being competitive by nature, I tried to work the hardest, be the fastest, have the largest one-to-one fighting ratio.  


When I wasn’t in training, I was studying. While the other men were relaxing my time was spent memorizing the different bones in the body. Flashcards were my new best friends. At Hogwarts I always enjoyed studying, but that was probably because Sherlock was there to help me.  


Sherlock. The best part of the week was when I was allowed a phone call to him. We sent letters to each other during the inbetween of these calls. He told me about the cases he worked on and deduced my comrades from pictures I sent him. I got homesick more often than I would like to admit, but I was sure Sherlock knew the truth. No one could know I was married to a man at the base either, because while the laws had changed, the minds of the people had not. Sherlock adopted the name Sherly with the men and I faced constant teasing that “me and my girl were so cute we were disgusting.”  


After six months, I was sent home for a few weeks. When Sherlock met me at the terminal I was… concerned. He looked sickly, obviously had not been eating as he should have been, and not quite there. However, when given that genuine, just for me smile, I pushed my worries aside and promised myself to get him all set up before I left again.  


The first few days were spent becoming reacquainted with each others bodies and reminding ourselves that yes, they are real, and no, this is not a dream. We spent the rest of the time running out on thrilling cases of the magic and muggle variety, one of which I had to grab the wand out of a particularly nasty wizard’s hand and take him down the “muggle way.” I was taken home and shagged within an inch of my life.  


When it was finally time to go, Sherlock began to beg me to stay. Never had I seen Sherlock so distressed. I refused with reluctance. He didn’t come to the terminal to see me off.  


The training just got harder and my studies more unbearable because of the bad taste that was left in my mouth. Something was very wrong, although it was impossible to pinpoint exactly what it was. Letters from Sherlock became almost nonexistent. He barely answered my phone calls, and when I did find a way to contact him, his writing was near illegible or he was in a rush to hang up. The strain of worry and hurt made me physically ill most days. The feeling was comparable to spending summers at home between my time at Hogwarts. I wasn’t eating, had chronic nightmares when I slept, and snapped at anyone who was just trying to help. On the bright side, I was doing better than ever before in combat drills.  


Desperate for some closure, I called the only person I knew that would know what was happening.  


“Hello John?” The posh accented voice answered.  


“What’s wrong with Sherlock, Mycroft?”  


There was a distinct pause, “I was afraid you were going to ask.”  


I tensed up, trying to control my utter rage. Sherlock was sick, I knew that much, but apparently Mycroft couldn’t be arsed to tell me. I made a note to punch him when I got back. “Tell me.”  


“I’m afraid I have been sworn not to tell you John. I assure you that everything is under control.”  


I wanted to cry. My Sherlock was hurt, and all I could imagine were the worse case scenarios. Chronic illness. Rehabilitation from losing a limb on a case. Maybe he was just-  
He was tired of me, I came to realize. Without me there, he had grown bored and moved on. That was the only explanation. I shook my head, feeling disgusted with myself. What was I thinking, claiming Sherlock was being unfaithful? Of course he wasn’t and I was horrible to think so.  


“Please Mycroft, I’m scared,” I admitted to him. I never admitted to being anything else other than confident to him, so I hoped this would convince him to tell me.  


“I’ll tell you if it becomes an issue. Goodbye Mr. Watson.”  


He didn’t add the Holmes.

~I hate page breaks and I can’t believe I have to use one two chapters in a row~

It was time to go home again. I had stopped trying to contact Sherlock, because there wasn’t really a point. There was something waiting for me in London, although it wasn’t clear what I would find. A voice in the back of head kept whispering that Sherlock had left me like everyone else had. It was harder to ignore these days.  


What I found in Baker Street was worse than anything I had anticipated.  


The entire thing was a mess. Usually, Mrs. Hudson kept it from getting to that point. But broken glass from beakers found a home on the floor, papers with bullet holes in them covered every inch of the wall, the cushions from the couch were scratched and ripped. In fact, the only thing that appeared in tact was my armchair, only it had the Union Jack pillow and one of my old Gryffindor jumpers folded on it. I heard a noise from the bedroom and instantly went to check, holding my wand in my sleeve. While my wandwork still lacked, it was still good to have it ready.  


The door was cracked open and when I peeked in, my already broken heart completely shattered to pieces. There was my Sherlock, lying in a nest of my clothes with a needle settled next to him. I rushed to his side, thinking back to all the medical training I’ve received. He was awake, eyes open but not focused on anything. His reactions were normal. All I could do was wait for him to get off the high.  


Instead of punching Mycroft, I was going to kill him.  


“Sherlock?” I asked quietly, pushing the hair away from his forehead. He looked over, not really seeing me.  


“I love it when I get to see you again John.” He smiled deliriously. “I can’t wait until you get home though.”  


I sobbed, not even holding back my tears, “Oh Sherlock, what have you done?”  


With a deep breath, I cuddled into him, letting him bury his face into my chest and his hands into my uniform. He seemed so frail, his fingers like his skeleton’s touch.  


“You haven’t been eating.” He observed lazily.  


I continued to sob into his hair, running my fingers through it and placing kisses all over his hair. This was my fault. It was all my fault. Well, it was his fault too, and when he was in rehab and better, I would be sure to let him know it. I knew one thing for sure and it was that I was not going back into service, PHD be damned.  


“Why are you crying my John? Do I make you sad? Is it the cocaine? You know I have to take it to see you, we talked about this.”  


I held him tighter with one hand, but took out my phone with the other.  


_I want you to get him a spot in the best rehabilitation facility England has to offer. I want you to pay for all of the damages to the flat. I want you to get me discharged from the military.  
_

Mycroft’s answer was almost instant.  


_Done. I’m sorry it is this way. Sherlock threatened to overdose if I said a word to you. MH  
_

My anger at Mycroft softened a bit. Stupid bastard knew how to get me feel bad for him.  


_Why isn’t he already in rehab?  
_

_He wouldn’t go unless it was because you asked him to when you came home for good. MH  
_

I set the phone down. Sherlock was telling me about an experiment that he was planning on doing. My tears had become the silent kind.  


“Wanna shower Sherlock?” I asked him.  


He shook his head. “The high will go down, and you will go away. I don’t want you to leave me John. I need you.”  


I gently bullied him up, no longer speaking to him because everything he said just broke my heart more. Once in the bathroom, I helped him out of his clothes, wincing at some scars that hadn’t been there last time. I kissed his shoulder, and then the track marks on his arm, as if they would go away. Suddenly I was hit with an obvious realization. I was a wizard with a specialty in wandless healing magic. Kissing them again with concentrated magic flowing to my lips actually let me heal them before my eyes.  


Sherlock stared at his arms for a few seconds, then looked very crestfallen. “You’re real. You know. You’re going to leave.”  


I shook my head, “No you bastard. I’m going to get you help, then I am going to make you grovel for forgiveness for being stupid, and then we are going to continue the plan we had before I went off you tosser. I am so happy you’re okay, but I also want to murder you at the same time. Don’t you ever scare me like that ever again. You could have died. Do you have any idea what I was going thro-”  


He cut me off with a kiss, holding me flat against him like a second skin. He was crying and even though I was mad, I kissed him back because god I had wanted this so bad.  


He broke off the plant kisses all over my face and hair, speaking between each one, “Anything. Anything John. I’m sorry and I love you and I want you to follow your dream but please, please for Merlin’s sake don’t leave again. I need you and I’m sorry and I won’t do it again because I won’t need it if you stay.”  


I giggled, “It’s okay, love. We’re okay. I’ll stay.”  


We just stood there, holding each other close. We had both made mistakes and we had a lot we needed to talk about, but that was fine for now.  


“Hey Sherlock?”  


“Yes John?”  


“I will cut your dick off if you ever use cocaine again.” I jabbed his back with my finger for emphasis.  


“You like my genitalia too much to do so.”  


I pushed him away from me and into the shower, laughing and flipping him off. “You’re right. But I won’t be touching anything in that area until you’re clean or dirt and drugs.”  


His protested went ignored as I left him to shower. I had a flat to clean, a job to find, and a British Government’s arse to kick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate Mycroft, he's doing whatever he can to protect his baby brother. There will be more angst next chapter too. Oh god I'm sorry.
> 
> As always, all comments or constructed criticism is welcome. If you have a prompt, suggestion, or personal question you can find me over on tumblr under RemixtheBox. 
> 
> ~Remix


	4. Thumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John has been kidnapped while Sherlock is away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the kidnapping tag? This is that chapter. The rape tag? Also this chapter. SO TRIGGER WARNING. DO NOT READ IF THIS HURTS YOU. This one was written a bit differently than the other chapters but I hope that it flows just as well. It was actually really hard for me to write this one. Not brit-picked, so be warned. 
> 
> ~Remix

“Don’t make me ask you again, Mister Watson-Holmes.” He circled around me, the dim light barely bright enough to illuminate the closet-like room we were in. I was on the floor, watching my own blood stain the concrete I was had been lying on for… hours? Days? My sense of time had been skewed. All I remember was waking up in this room and the endless questioning and torture. 

Another wave of the crucio curse met my already beaten body. I screamed, my voice hoarse with constant strain. The screech reverberated off the walls, sounding closer to the wails of an animal than a man. Pain was searing through my body and tearing my organs apart only to mend them seconds later. I never begged for mercy in my life, and never thought I would even consider it, but I was breaking, my mind being torn along with my body. But I couldn’t tell them. 

The torture ceased once more, and I gasped for air like a drowning man. My clothes were stained with dirt and blood yet stuck to my skin because of the sweat that poured off my skin. You would think that after all this time the pain would lessen and I would grow accustomed. It never seemed to get easier, only worse as time moved on.

“What is the password to get into the Holmes vault?” The man asked again. When this all started, he had a smug, sick expression on his face, but now it had twisted in irritation. He was tired and I could see the desire to kill me crawl beneath his skin. 

The worst part of this was that I didn’t even know what the man wanted from the vault so badly. I had only been in once, and what I had seen had been obliviated by Mycroft. All I knew is that it was important, dangerous, and absolutely crucial that he didn’t get it.

I used my energy to look up at the man and spit, “You’ll have to try harder, bastard.” My voice was not my own, but I had to buy Sherlock time. I had sent my patronus out right before I was sedated in the flat. Mycroft usually kept such strict protection so I could only assume that my kidnappers were in one of his circles. 

The man sneered at me with the utmost disgust. He reminded me of my father and the look he would get right before he went to hit me. Instead of a blow, I was met with a sharp tug of my hair up to his height. It hurt like hell, but I grit my teeth and tried to keep my wits about me.

His breath was putrid as he spoke close to my face, “You’re a feisty one. I like that.” His other hand that held his wand came up to brush my bloodied cheek, “Too bad I was told to keep my hands off ya, or we would be having a bit of fun.”

My face lost all color. I knew exactly what he meant, and the mere thought was enough to consecutively make bile rise in my throat and freeze my bones with terror. I gave my enchanted wrist restraints one good tug to reassure that yes, they were still there, and no, I couldn’t punch or hex this guy. 

I was thrown back on the ground violently, making stars swim in my vision when my head cracked against the floor. My hands were squashed under my body weight, not that they were of any use. I couldn’t even attempt wandless magic. These idiots must have done their research to think ahead and block all magic flow, not just take my wand. 

Legs straddled me suddenly causing panic to settle under my skin. I looked the man in the eyes to see if he were actually serious. I was met with crooked yellowed teeth revealed by a large, hungry smile.

“They did tell me to use any means necessary…” He leaned down near my face, letting his breath ghost over my features, “...and this seemed to be the only suggestion you react to. Don’t worry baby, it won’t be all bad. I’ll play nice as soon as you tell me what I desire.”

He cast a full body bind on me to stop my weak struggles. He didn’t really need it, I knew, with my body so weak from the previous treatment. Tears were running down my cheeks. I had never been with anyone other than Sherlock, and this man was as dirty and gross as it got, probably a paid lackey so the higher ups that worked with Mycroft didn’t get their hands dirty. I was completely helpless to stop anything from happening to me, and that above all else was the most terrifying thing. 

I closed my eyes and tried to ignore the ripping of my clothing. Taking deep breaths were not helping to stop my tears and I knew there was no point in begging for mercy other than to fuel his ego. I thought of Sherlock and what he would do. I needed to slow down and think. 

No motor skills readily available. Magic is not an option. I can speak. We’re in a locked room, no windows or orientation. Just me, and this man with a-

I gasped suddenly. Of course. This man has a power complex. If I just… play along, I could convince him to take the bind off and maybe even the cuffs. Then I can knock him out, take his wand, and get the fuck out of dodge. It was reckless and stupid, but it was the only plan I had at the moment. I swallowed the pride I was basically choking on and apologized to Sherlock for what I was about to do.

I waited until he slapped the side of my ribs to let out a forced, yet startled sounding moan. The man looked down at me in shock, and then his face turned pleased.

“I should have expected as much. I bet you liked the pain I put you through earlier, slut.” He slapped my side again.

Pain wasn’t really my kink, so the slap simply hurt like hell. However, I had to get him to believe I was actually enjoying getting raped. For authenticity, every arousing memory I could think of was pulled to the forefront of my mind. I imagined Sherlock in all of his beautifully debauched forms, but even that was barely enough to get me to react. 

The hits came in rapid succession after that, and I tried to make my screams of pain sound like ones of pleasure, He whispered filthy, disgusting words in my ear about what a dirty whore I was and what fun we were going to have. Soon, the reverse spell was murmured against my collarbone and I found myself able to move again. Phase one was complete.

“Does Sherlock touch you like this baby? Does he make you feel as good as I do?” The man pressed his and bites along my throat and chest and I wanted to cry by how wrong this is. My desire to be repulsed almost won out, but then I remembered that this was my only chance to not only avoid penetration with this man, but also to escape before something irreversible happened. 

Trying not to vomit, I gave him the answer he wanted, “Never like this. He treats me… like I’m fragile. I can take it.”

He smiled wickedly down at me, “That you can baby. You’re such a whore, bet you would like it if I took you raw.”

No. I am a med student and I have a million reasons as to why that sounds like a horrible idea. My body throbbed in pain only to reinstate the fact that all of this situation was highly fucked up. “Yes. I would love it…”

Cackling laughter echoed on the walls now, “Bet’cha want to scratch and claw like the pretty little kitten you are, huh baby?”

I nod enthusiastically. This is what I had been waiting for. Hopefully I have done enough ego stroking and enough ham-fisted acting to get the cuffs off.

They fell away from my wrists, and I gave the man no time to react as I slammed his head against the wall, possibly knocking him out, possibly killing him. I didn’t really care that much.

I stole his wand , using it to kind of mend my clothing. This was where my plan began to show its real flaws. What was on the other side of the door? How many men were here? Where was I anyway?

Those thoughts were shoved roughly from my head. There wasn’t any time to sit still like a damsel in distress waiting for Sherlock to save me like he always did. No doubt others would come down to switch shifts, or possibly even pick him up and leave me alone. Either way, while going out of the room was reckless and dangerous, remaining in the room would leave me right where I started. 

I took a deep breath and whispered a small spell on the lock, opening it easily. The hallway I peeked out into appeared to be clear. It looked more like a small apartment than dark torture cellar like I was expecting. There were only candles, so I assumed I was in the wizarding part of London. Most surprising, there was a metal, industrial door at the end of the hall that looked out of place in the outdated environment. Someone was also banging on it repeatedly. 

My body was weak, trying to coax me to lay back down, but I knew that the way out was on the other side of that door. The pounding was relentless, a mixture of spells and physical attacks. Overall, the presence on the other side seemed quite malicious.

A familiar voice made my heart swell.

“Sherlock, cut it out! It’s obviously m=not working!” Lestrade yelled at the no doubt hysterical detective. He was fresh out of rehab, about to come home to the flat when I was captured. My heart ached. How long have I been gone.

Using all my energy to pull myself up to the door, I willed my broken and raw voice to be loud enough, “Sherlock?”

It all got very quiet until Mycroft spoke, “There was some strain on the silencing spell. It’s probably more attackers that Sherlock has so helpfully alerted of our presence.”

Sherlock’s voice was hoarse when he answered, “They can’t apparate out, so if they want to face us, they’ll have to open up.”

I swore quietly, raising my weak arm to whisper the reverse spell. I felt the silencer drop.

“It’s gone,” Mycroft sounded confused in his assessment.

“Sherlock?” I asked again, a bit louder to be sure.

“John?” I heard him yell, feeling his weight hit the door, “John, are you alright?”

I chuckled weakly, “Not really, no.”

“Can you take down the protective charms?” Lestrade asked, cutting off whatever Sherlock was about to say.”

“I- I can try.”

It took me longer than it usually did, but Sherlock was saying encouraging things while I worked. The same ones, I noted, I told him while he was in rehab.

The second I got them down Sherlock slid in, barely opening the door. I was enveloped in his arms, holding me tenderly. Although I was still in pain, I was so happy and relieved that I didn’t care.  
The last thing I heard before I passed out were his muffled apologies.

The first thing I saw when I woke up was a headful of chocolate curls. 

I was in a muggle hospital room with Sherlock taking up most of the bed. The calendar on the wall said it had been a week since I had gotten kidnapped. Reaching over the detective that snoozed by my side, I looked over my medical chart. I cringed at some of my injuries with full confidence Sherlock had deduced what caused each of them. I had been out six days. Well then. Only hours of torture then. 

My husband stirred next to me, looking up to see my face. His eyes were puffy and he looked exhausted in every sense of the word. I kissed him before he could say anything. We were still recovering from his drug episode, so this must have been actual hell for him. 

He hugged me tightly and I winced from some of the tenderness a I still felt. He instantly relaxed a bit.

I realized I was crying when we pulled away. His lips left kisses all over my face while he breathed me in like a personal drug.

“I thought I lost you,” he sobbed against my neck, “I’m so sorry. I know what happened and I’m sorry. No one will ever touch you again. I’ll do everything I can to make the pain go away.”

One kiss was placed on the top of his head. “I know you will.”

I was funny, how broken we were, and how cracked we always seemed to be. But I guess that didn’t really matter, because he always put the pieces back together.

He hummed suddenly, “Is now a bad time to tell you if you wanted out of the cuffs, you could have just dislocated your thumbs?”

The nurse found him complaining on the floor while I was laughing so hard my ribs cracked all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my kiddies, one chapter left after this. I promise so much fluff you'll get cavities as an apology for the last two chapters. There will be some more discussion of the situation of this chapter in the next, so if things felt incomplete, it's because the ends will be tied next chappy. As always, any comment or constructed criticism is welcome. If you have a prompt, request, or personal question you can always find me over on tumblr under RemixtheBox.
> 
> ~Remix


	5. Pinky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finally getting themselves together, John and Sherlock were still hunting for the ones behind John's heist. A small child will give them the information they need and the family they always wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is folks, the last chapter in this story. I hope you all enjoyed it and if you just can't get enough of this verse, there will be one more installment but it will be dedicate to our sweet babies Mycroft and Lestrade. this chapter was not beta'd or brit-picked, so all mistakes are my own.
> 
> ~Remix

Recovery was long, a mixture of muggle and magic technique that I was enraptured by. It was the balance that I wanted to strive for until I perfected the still developing practice. Many of the nurses and doctors were happy to answer all my questions, but some were not keen on dealing with an drugged up med student. 

Sherlock was by my side obsessively, not even complaining about how dull the hospital was even though I knew he was being driven absolutely mad. He brought in cases for us to sit in bed and solve together. The gesture was touching and a nice reprieve from our extended break due to his rehabilitation.

This version of Sherlock was nice, but when I was finally released and I came home to my husband shooting walls, everything finally clicked back into place. Sure, I had to visit a therapist every week, and Sherlock had an even higher degree of separation anxiety, but we could deal with that and heal at our own pace. We were recovered; we were happy; and we were going to be okay.

Well, as okay as things got in our lives. But this was pretty damn perfect if I do say so myself.

I learned after a dinner with Greg and Mycroft that the item being held in the Holmes’ vault was none other than the resurrection stone. Since the second war with Voldemort, they did not trust Gringotts to hold their fortune. Instead, theirs was held at the end of a large maze through a trap door. A password was needed to get in. While my attackers knew the way there, they did not know the password, and had thought that the easiest person to get it from was me. The password was Jammy Dodgers, of all things.

The attackers were also still free.

Months passed with little notable incident, nor any progression in the identity of the wizard responsible. All of Mycroft’s men and women had been interrogated with no further information than what the Holmes brothers deduced from my statement. Sherlock still grumbled and swore anytime it was brought up and I was assured a long cuddling session every time. 

Hope was almost lost until the girl showed up.

We did not usually get children in to discuss a case. When we did, it was heartbreaking to hear such an innocent creature describe crimes no one should ever need to witness. This girl, however, looked eerily calm. Her features were sharp and aristocratic, but that was almost buried under the dirt that tainted her olive skin. There was so much grime in her hair that I was unsure as to what the color was. Clothes hung off her tiny frame, and yet besides the way she looked, she strolled into 221B with a confidence that was rare in the adults, let alone children.

She didn’t say anything when we got a chair for her to sit in, nor to to answer whether or not she wanted tea. She just stared at us expectantly, with dark chocolate eyes that knew too much for a child.

“I have a case for you,” She said in a thick Scottish accent. Sherlock’s interest was already peaked from this girl, but I watched him shift to the edge of his chair when she chose to speak.

Sherlock and I had previously made a deal that I would deal with the sensitive ones, like children and anyone who was currently or might start crying. I decided to tread carefully, “What is it Miss…?”

“Beverly. My name is Beverly.” Her eyes were sharp as they snapped to me. For a brief second, the gaze was calculating, comparable to Sherlock’s. However, it softened and I swore there was a look of longing.

“Do go on, Miss Beverly,” Sherlock stated with impatience. I repressed the desire to flick him and instead gave him a look that screamed be nice.

She took a deep breath, her disposition grave, “I believe I have some important information. I only heard it in passing, but it sounded bad. It seemed wrong not to tell and I am a big fan of the work you two do.”

I smile, but shot Sherlock a confused look. No case, but information she didn’t even know anything about. Sherlock was rolling his eyes at the child, yet he chose to keep his mouth shut surprisingly enough. 

The girl had a distressed look on her face, so I stood to get the throw blanket on the sofa. She took it gratefully, wrapping it around herself. I was probably the softest thing she has felt in years by the look of it.

“Mr. John’s name was mentioned…” She began after calming herself a bit, “There was a man, late thirties with a scar through his brow, probably a broken glass bottle by the look of it, and he was speaking to a shorter man. Smelt like tequila and cigarette smoke, divorced at least twice, and had a child. They were discussing a… delicate situation. Was Mr. John… assaulted a while ago?”

Sherlock was kneeling in front of her in a second, “You must tell me everything you know. This is very important Beverly, do you understand?”

The child nodded, pulling the blanket even tighter, “I couldn’t get very close, but they said they were planning something bigger. That the boss was angry how things worked out last time. The… restoration stone? Something like that, they want to have it to sell to the highest bidder. We were in the south part of London, and I know some mob members like to hang around there. I’m sorry, but that’s all I know…”

Sherlock’s face lit up like it always does when he reaches a breakthrough on a case. He placed a kiss on the child’s smudged forehead, grabbing his coat and pulling out his phone, “I’ll be back for dinner John. Stay here with Beverly and help her clean up. That child is a conductor of light!” He slammed the door behind him.

“Is he always like that?” She asked quietly. I chuckled and nodded in response.

I let her shower on her own until she called for me. Apparently she had gotten soap in her eyes and began to panic. I took the time I was washing her hair to ask her some questions. She was homeless like I suspected, her rich parents dropping her off in London to die three years ago. They said it was because they couldn’t have a freak of a daughter; she was like Sherlock, a deductive genius. While she wasn’t as experienced, the potential was certainly there. My heart ached for the child. I remembered the bullying Sherlock faced in his younger years at school. He still faced some at Hogwarts, even though I would put a stop to that as soon as word got to me. 

Her hair was brown and curly, an absolute mess on her head. It took a lot of hand holding soft words to calm her enough to get all the snags out. I took some of Sherlock’s hair creme and put it through the clean curls before tying it up into a small bun. Living with a sister had it’s perks, after all. 

The more the hours went by, the more attached I got. She was wearing one of Sherlock’s old t-shirts and I thought she was one of the most precious looking things I had ever seen. We made cookies together and brought some down to Mrs. Hudson, who instantly adored the child. When i thought about putting her back out on the streets I felt physically ill.

Sherlock finally came home around midnight and placed a passionate kiss on my lips. When he went to speak about whatever was on his mind, I pointed over to the sleeping bundle on his chair. Beverly had wanted to wait up for Sherlock, but she was just so tired after the day’s events. 

Sherlock smiled at her, then looked back at me. We came to a silent agreement to not disturb her. 

Lying on the sofa, Sherlock placed his head on my chest and tangled our legs together. He whispered what the plan was to me excitedly.

“The mob, John. How could we be so blind. They are known for their connections inside the government, and with a treasure as precious as the resurrection stone, they could make a fortune! While we can’t take down the entire English underground, I was able to narrow it down to a particular branch. Mycroft and his men are taking it down as we speak. Brilliant John! That child is brilliant.”

I laugh, “She’s like a miniature you. Only, her skin isn’t as pasty as yours.”

Sherlock covered his mouth to keep his snort quiet, “That is very rude Mr. Watson-Holmes.”

Hours later we were woke up but a gentle shake. Sherlock groaned and looked over at the girl. She was holding a blanket close, tears in her eyes.

“Nightmare?” I heard him mumble quietly.

Next thing I knew was that I was getting manipulated by Sherlock and a small soft wrap of human was placed between me and the couch. After a small huff of gratitude, she snuggled into me and fell asleep.

Beverly never left the home that 221B provided, and with her a small, broken family was created. Mrs. Hudson babysat her anytime that Sherlock and I ran off on cases, but when we just needed a break, Uncle Greg and Mycroft were happy to spoil her rotten.

Her Hogwarts letter arrived the next year.

Seeing her off was one of the most heart-warming things to see, a small girl who hadn’t even known of magic going off to discover the world for herself. She didn’t have to face any house prejudice like Sherlock did, because raised in a family made of a Slytherin, a Ravenclaw, a Hufflepuff, and a Gryffindor for the past year, all possibilities were open and good. 

I watched my daughter hop on the train, speaking to a girl with bright green hair. Sherlock squeezed my hand and I looked up and smiled.

“She’ll be okay John.” 

I looked back at the train, “We all will.”

“Promise?” The voice of a scared, desperate young boy echoed somewhere in my memory, but looking at Sherlock now, I knew that he already knew my answer, as he knows everything.

I locked our pinkies like we did so long ago on the very train we were looking at. “Promise.”

A jolt of magic flowed through my body and I held his hand, palm to palm. He was my unbreakable vow, and I thought that maybe it had always been that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone, this is where we part for now. I had a lot of fun writing this for you, and if you even found it mildly entertaining that means the entire world to me. Any constructed criticism or comments are always welcome. If you have any personal prompts, you can find me at RemixtheBox on tumblr where I would be happy to try and fill that for you. Thanks so much again for reading, hope you guys like the idea of the Mystrade addition, and I hope you all have a lovely day (or night, we all know fandom trash like ourselves are vampires).
> 
> ~Remix

**Author's Note:**

> So this chapter was relatively fluffy and I promise the next one shall be as well. If you have any questions or prompt requests, you can talk to me in the comments or send me a message on Tumblr at RemixtheBox. 
> 
> ~Remix


End file.
